Then the sun passed below the reef, the tide began to draw out, and the Sarah, swinging to it, brought to his view the Juan and the Natchez, ships of dusk in a world of dusk powdered with star dust. Presently a light was run up on the Natchez, then the Juan put up her riding light, then Satan appeared, a dusky form, rising from the cabin hatch and followed by Jude.
They came forward. Jude squatted on the deck, and Satan drew close to Ratcliffe.
“Now, if them skunks had any sense in their skulls, they’d stick out a guard boat,” said Satan; “but I’ve fair put the hood on them, I b’lieve, and they’ve never saw what I was after, pretendin’ I had no oil for an anchor light. Why, they are only fit to be put out to nuss! Half an hour more and we’ll be off.”
“How are you going to do it?”
“Knock the shackle off the anchor chain an’ let her drift. Tide an’ current is runnin’ four knots.”
“But even without the anchor light they’ll be able to see us by the stars.”
“Lord bless you! at this distance they won’t be able to see mor’n a glimpse of us. We’ll go so gradual they won’t notice. If they keep a lookout at all,—which they won’t, ten to one,—he’ll see us by believin’ we’re there.”
“Lord! I’d love to see their faces in the morning!” murmured Jude.
“But won’t they go for you when we get back to Havana?” asked Ratcliffe.
“Not they,” said Satan. “They’ll say nothin’, seein’ as how they’re done and the laugh’s against them. Why, Cark will respect me more for this job than if I’d run straight with him over the biggest deal. If it’d been the other way about and he’d pulled the dollars off me, I’d have been nowhere with him. Mind you out here, if I was to stick here till tomorrow, they’d be aboard and maybe manhandling us if I didn’t bail up; but back in Havana the thing will be closed and the accounts wrote off.”